Trust Exercises
by justvisiting80
Summary: AU - Clarke Griffin has rules for how to survive college. Too bad Bellamy Blake never read the rule book. (My first foray into Alternate Universe writing.) This was originally written for a Secret Valentine project on Tumblr, and consisted of two parts. Since then I've added a third and final section. I hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1**

Clarke was enjoying her freshman year of college more than she'd expected. There had been so much pressure toward the end of high school –pressure from her teachers to be the best, pressure from headmaster Jaha to win the awards and scholarships that would give his school prestige, pressure from her mother to not feel like she had to be the best even though the subtext was that of course she _should_ be anyway, even the pressure to date Wells (although it came from everyone but him) so they could be the school's power couple, the valedictorian and salutatorian, Prom King and Queen, all of that.

Now though, Wells was off at school in The Middle of Nowhere, North Dakota – his own self-imposed purgatory. And Clarke was here in DC, ostensibly alone but so very happy with the arrangement she barely cared.

Yes, there had been the horror of realizing the hot freshman she'd slept with during orientation was actually her new roommate's high school boyfriend. That had been a rough start. But Finn had transferred after the first few weeks, unable to cut it at such a competitive school, and now she and Raven were back to being pretty much okay around each other. It helped that they both kept crazy hours and only ever had free time on the weekends anyway. (Raven had asked for – and been granted, because she was some sort of genius – the right to declare her major early. Mechanical Engineering was her life. And Clarke… well, her mom had agreed to help pay for the big, expensive East Coast school if Clarke promised to go Pre-Med, so…)

"Hey Roomie, you in?" Raven called as she opened the door to their room after classes on Friday. It was a pointless question: the building was so old, and the rooms so small, they were basically sharing a cheerfully-yellow prison cell. There wasn't really anywhere to hide from each other, and yet they had gotten into this funny little "honey I'm home" shtick early on and now they couldn't shake it.

Clarke mumbled a greeting but otherwise didn't move from her place on the top bunk. She tried to look even more studious than usual. She knew Raven was about to insist they go out – it _was_ the weekend – but Clarke couldn't keep giving in to her roommate out of guilt for the whole Finn thing. The school's core requirements were slowly sucking the life out of her, beginning with this damn history class. Partying did not fit into the long-term plan, and it certainly wasn't helping her short-term survival either.

"C'mon Clarke, say hello to our guest, won't you?" Raven continued. Her voice sounded unnaturally perky, and Clarke groaned to herself and lifted her gaze from the book. _Prospective Students Weekend_. Right. Okay, well, maybe they'd lucked out… although the look on Raven's face suggested she was skeptical.

"Hi, ...Octavia," Clarke said as she climbed down and peered at the nametag on the girl's chest. "You can take that off by the way."

"Oh, right, yeah," Octavia blushed prettily and peeled the sticker from her faded jean jacket. Clarke was fairly certain Octavia did everything in a pretty way. She was gorgeous, the kind of beauty you couldn't even hate because she herself didn't seem to notice. "It was so busy at the orientation I guess I forgot."

"It's fine. And you don't need to be nervous, either," Clarke assured her with a smile. "We don't bite. Well, I don't. Raven did punch a guy last week though." Raven rolled her eyes.

"It was Wick. That doesn't even count."

"Wow, poor guy! I'll be sure to pass on your message, Raven."

"I have no idea what any of that means," Octavia admitted, and Clarke laughed.

"It means Raven is terrible at flirting, that's all."

"Any big plans, newbie?" Raven interrupted with a mock scowl for her roommate, tossing her backpack onto the lower bunk. "It's Friday night. There are a couple good parties, if you're interested."

"Thanks, but my brother is a senior here, and he'd pretty much kick my ass if he found me at, like, a frat party or something. I'm supposed to meet him over at the pool in a while, actually. He has a swim meet tonight."

Raven grinned at Clarke. _Swimmers, huh_? Suddenly, the dark-haired freshman was a lot friendlier toward Octavia. Clarke bit back a groan, knowing exactly where this was headed. Raven seemed convinced there was only one good way for them each to get over Finn.

"We'll take you," Raven volunteered. Clarke tried to back out, pointing to the history book still sitting on her bed largely unread, but Raven – and eventually even Octavia – became almost belligerent. "You're no fun. Clarke, it's Friday night. Let's go get you _laid_!"

" _Raven!_ " Clarke turned to Octavia apologetically. "That's not what college is about."

"For _her_ ," Raven clarified with a snort. "For the rest of us…"

* * *

Raven insisted Clarke wear makeup and a nicer outfit than sweat pants and a t-shirt. Clarke referred to it as getting tarted up, which annoyed Raven and brought an amused snort from Octavia. A fight over the sweater – and Clarke's absolute insistence on jeans – made them late for the meet. Octavia was quiet while they snuck in to the upper level of bleachers, but as soon as she realized they'd only missed the first race, she cheered right up. Clarke and Raven watched the competition haphazardly as they leaned against the railing, Raven mostly scouting out men for Clarke, Clarke rolling her eyes at each suggestion, especially when Raven – in a fit of pique – actually offered to set her up with Jasper Jordan. Octavia barely heard them; she was busy cheering for her brother whenever he was in the water. Which seemed to be an awful lot. Clarke and Raven eventually joined her just for something more interesting to do, and tried to figure out which of the sleek figures in the pool was related to Octavia.

"So. Bellamy, huh? That's kind of an unusual name," Raven pointed out during a break in the races.

"Said the girl named after a bird," Octavia shot back, but she sounded friendly, not mean, and Raven laughed approvingly.

"You said he's the captain?" Clarke asked, curious despite herself. She knew one or two of the freshmen on the swim team – Miller, for example, and Murphy – but she didn't think they had ever mentioned Bellamy. It was the kind of name she would have remembered: old-fashioned, nice-sounding.

"Mm-hmm," Octavia answered, distracted. "You know, I think he's pretty much done. There's just the 50-meter freestyle left, and that only ever takes a few seconds. Want to come meet him?"

"Sure," Raven shrugged. Senior guys had senior guy friends. That could be good for all of them. The girls traipsed downstairs to wait by the locker room entrance. Octavia pointed out Bellamy as he walked past, laughing at a joke one of his teammates had made. He was tallish but not gangly, with broad shoulders and narrow hips and... just... definitely not enough clothes on for Clarke's comfort. When he saw Octavia, he cut out of line to give her a long wet hug.

"I'm glad you made it, O." She squirmed out of his grasp with a grimace at the watery greeting, just as Miller paused by the door of the locker room.

"Hey Blake, you coming out tonight?" _Blake_ , Clarke's numb brain finally kicked itself. Bellamy Fucking _Blake_ , captain of the swim team. That's why she hadn't recognized the name _. Oh my fucking god._ Blake had… a reputation. Blake was absolutely everything she planned to avoid in college.

"I'm going to get dressed," he told Octavia, waving Miller off temporarily. "Wait right here."

And he was gone again. Clarke tried to calm down. She hadn't expected that. She hadn't been ready for boyish freckles, and damp tousled curls, and water dripping down bare bronze muscles. When he had grabbed Octavia into that hug, he had been _so close_. And so… touchable.

Clarke refused to look Raven's direction. The girl would have a field day with Clarke's completely inappropriate and out of character attraction to this man.

"Okay, all set!" Bellamy was back and Clarke wanted to find any excuse to get away from him, from the way he seemed to shed waves of heat at her without having once acknowledged her presence. But dear sweet fuck, how could that man wear a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in such a… sexual way? It shouldn't be possible.

"So, have you eaten? Most of the team is heading out for pizza. You can all come if you want," his gaze swept over the other girls as he spoke, and when he caught Clarke's eye he smiled. It was skin-meltingly charming. "Hi. Bellamy Blake. I guess I should thank you for taking care of my kid sister this weekend."

She should have crawled away earlier, back before he saw her, back when she had the chance and a shred of dignity left. But it was too late now; he was waiting for some kind of answer. She licked her lips nervously, tried not to stare at his dark laughing eyes or the dimple on his chin – that damn adorable dimple, really just unfair – and introduced first Raven, then herself. Raven immediately stepped up to say they'd love to go for pizza, as Clarke knew she would. She tried to think of some way out of the invitation; this was all becoming too dangerous, too distracting, and it was happening way too fast. But then Bellamy slipped one arm over his sister's shoulders and as they turned to leave, caught Clarke's waist gently with his free hand. It was just for a moment, just a quick light pressure on her hip, turning her toward the door. And even though the whole thing was over so fast nobody else noticed it, even though he never once looked back at her because he was busy listening to Octavia's story about her trip, Clarke knew she was going with them.

"Oh, come _on_ , I promise it won't be too bad," Raven begged, unaware of Clarke's own internal battle and stupid, stupid weakness. She linked her arm through Clarke's. "He's hot, his friends are hot… in fact, I think this could be _fun._ "

* * *

"Mind if I sit here?"

Clarke looked around; she was alone at a corner booth, and the rest of the restaurant was swarming. Saying "No" to Bellamy Blake would just be rude. She pushed herself to the far edge of the semi-circular bench and nodded, mute.

"Thanks. I know I'm supposed to be celebrating with them, but sometimes I just need a damn break."

"A break? From your friends?"

"Friends? …Hm, I guess they're my friends. Mostly they're my team. I'm responsible for them. These guys are decent enough, but a lot of us are here on scholarship, so we need to keep our grades high. And for some people," Clarke caught him eyeing Murphy, a hint of worry scarring the corners of his mouth, "That's hard to remember."

"Ah. So you're saying you're _everyone's_ big brother? Not just Octavia's?" Clarke challenged with a raised eyebrow. No. Wait. Why was she letting herself get dragged into this conversation? This was dumb. This was dangerous. He kept shifting closer, and of course she had to do the same because the restaurant was so loud she couldn't hear him otherwise, but now she caught a hint of his shampoo - or maybe his soap? - whatever; it was minty, a cool fresh green kind of smell that seemed too clean for what she'd heard about Blake. He should smell like fast sex and regret, not like… like… _temptation_.

"I didn't set out to be Big Brother, I promise," he teased back. "It's just habit, I guess."

"Hm. But next year you'll be gone, and Octavia will be a freshman if she gets accepted."

Bellamy scowled at that; obviously she had struck a nerve. "Oh, she'll get in. And I've already applied to be an R.A."

"Wow. That's... commitment." Commitment... creepy... whatever.

"Octavia's smart, and she's basically a good kid, but I worry about her. _All_ the time," Bellamy admitted as they sat watching the crowd. Clarke kept trying to understand how they had ended up alone like this. "Maybe that's just me being the protective brother again though," Bellamy continued, still focused on Octavia.

"I wouldn't know, sorry. Only child."

"Yeah." There was something darker about him, now that he was free of the pool and it was just the two of them. Bellamy stretched out with a sigh, his well-toned limbs taking up most of the bench; Clarke raised one suspicious eyebrow when his leg brushed against hers under the table.

"What?" He laughed, deep and throaty, and she considered the very real possibility that it would be her undoing. "Relax, I'm not hitting on you. I'm tired, and ready for bed." She crossed her arms at the insinuation. " _Still_ not hitting on you. I promise. Scary, angry girls are not my type." Clarke narrowed her eyes in frustration.

"I'm not scary."

"You're damn terrifying."

"Come on."

"Trust me. How often do you even get hit on?" It was such a _rude_ fucking question, she almost forgot how viscerally her body had reacted to him at first. "Look, you don't have to actually answer that. It's none of my business, I'm just trying to prove a point. And my point is, when someone as hot as you is single, it's probably because she's smart – and to some men, that's intimidating."

He thought she was hot? That never happened. Everyone always gravitated toward Raven; it had been true since their first weeks on campus.

"You find me intimidating," she managed, grasping for a handle on this conversation.

"No, I didn't say that."

"You _just_ said that!"

"I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Princess. That's really not what I meant. Just because you're scary doesn't mean I'm scared of you." One eyebrow slid upward as he spoke, and he was trying to hold back a grin. Fuck, he was _really hot_ , though.

"I am _not_ scary, I just don't have time for distractions."

"Not scary? You should see your face right now, then." He laughed again. _Dammit._ Yes, that sound, that liquid sex sound, was proving treacherous. "Fine, if not scary, then at least angry." Clarke grew still. "But what I don't get is, what do _you_ have to be angry about, Princess?" he continued, his voice lower now, more serious. Bellamy leaned forward suddenly, this time getting right in her personal space. He was staring; Clarke could feel her cheeks heating up under the scrutiny.

"I'm not angry about anything –"

"Liar."

"– But I _do_ have to focus on school right now." Clarke realized she was probably saying it as much for her own benefit as his. Bellamy leaned away again, resting his head on the booth's high wooden back.

"Yeah, sure, we all do. I've got a Senior thesis that won't write itself. But instead of focusing on Caesar's crossing of the Rubicon like I'm supposed to, I'm cramming for a quiz on cellular respiration."

"Why?"

"My advisor fucked up, and I never took the core science requirement."

Clarke sat up. "Wait. So you're a History major?" she asked. Bellamy just nodded. He actually looked slightly unsettled now, as he watched gears turning in Clarke's head. Finally she nodded back, and smiled at him grimly.

"Okay. I'll tutor you. I could take that bio quiz in my sleep. And in exchange, all you have to do is get me through my ancient cultures course."

They eyed each other carefully.

"Okay, yeah. Deal," Bellamy finally declared, sliding to the edge of the booth. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go threaten the asshole trying to feel up my little sister."

* * *

It had been two weeks, and Clarke was in serious trouble. Tutoring Bellamy was more difficult than she had expected, mainly because every time she got near him, she kept thinking of him in his swimming uniform. Which was pretty much the same as thinking of him naked. Which was distracting, and usually led to her needing a very long cool shower by the time she got back to her dorm.

Her phone buzzed against her hip, and she felt the little surge of pleasure she always felt when it turned out to be a text from him.

 _\- Library tonight? 9?-_ Clarke grinned. He'd have just finished practice. He'd be warm and slightly breathless from the exertion, his hair would be _so_ perfectly imperfect…

 _\- Sorry, busy til 10 -_ she texted back. She couldn't let him think he was in charge.

 _\- Busy? How? -_ Clarke felt her brow furrow. Now she needed actual _plans_?

 _\- Movie. -_ That was a pretty good excuse.

 _\- OK. Send me the details, I'll meet you there. -_ Shit. Time to organize movie night. Monty Green, that stoner kid with the full ride scholarship, lived just down the hall. He was usually up for a little distraction, and he had a decent flatscreen. Raven would probably be cool with that, too, given the way those two always skirted the edges of their mutual attraction.

Clarke sighed and pulled up Raven's number.

* * *

Monty was so stoned he had moved past "giggly" and was well into "inappropriately friendly" by the time Raven and Clarke knocked.

" _Streetcar Named Desire_? Really?" Raven asked when she saw the title sequence queued up.

"I've never seen it," Clarke said, but Monty was grinning loosely at Raven. He was oblivious to anything Clarke had to say.

"What can I say? I love old movies," he confessed, wrapping them each in bear hugs before ushering them into his small, surprisingly tidy room. Black and white films weren't her thing, but Clarke had sprung this on all of them last minute; she had no right to make judgments about Monty's choice.

Half an hour into the movie, Clarke was hooked. A knock on the door startled her; Monty did not bother to move, draped happily over Raven in a way that Clarke seemed to mind more than her roommate did.

" _You_ get it, Clarke. He's your damn boyfriend," Raven muttered as she curled lazily into Monty. Clarke sighed and crossed the room, one eye still on the movie. Until she swung the door open.

He looked so out-of-place here. This was a freshman dorm, full of young kids still learning how to act like adults. Bellamy was… definitely not a kid. Just as she had predicted, he was slightly winded. Dark curls clung damply to his forehead and it was _so_ damn hard not to reach up and brush them back. He must have dressed in a rush; his soft grey Henley was slightly crooked at the shoulder, and she could see where a few stray droplets of water had bled through from his skin, staining the fabric temporarily darker. He even still smelled faintly of the pool. As he stepped into the tiny room, Bellamy bit back an insolent grin.

"I don't miss living like this," he admitted, bending to whisper in her ear; it sent a shiver over her skin. "Next time, movie night at my place? Although," he caught sight of Marlon Brando, "Good choice." He looked at her with something like approval.

"Monty picked it," Clarke deflected, suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze. Why did she always react this way to him?

"Wait - you don't like it?"

"I've just never seen it before." Bellamy screwed his face up thoughtfully but said nothing. His head tilted very slightly to the side as he studied her, and Clarke had to look away. She should not be doing this. It was a mistake. He was a mistake.

They tried to get comfortable on the floor, Clarke desperate to keep physical distance between them… but it didn't take long before Raven and Monty became impossible to ignore. The movie was too difficult to follow with that kind of distraction, so Clarke suggested studying in her room instead – something she had previously avoided, on purpose. The last boy she'd invited to her room had been Finn.

But now here Bellamy was, standing on their tiny faded-orange throw rug, slowly taking in the various signs of each occupant. It felt like maybe he was reading her soul, and suddenly Clarke wished she had not let Raven hang quite so many of those stupid charcoal sketches. It was too much information to share with someone like Bellamy, who pretended to be an open book but _really_ fucking wasn't.

It was Clarke's night, which meant she was allowed to sit back and listen as Bellamy turned her dry boring textbook into something actually worth caring about. She curled her legs beneath her on Raven's lower bunk, and tried not to notice how completely he filled the room with his presence as he paced and talked. Tonight it was the founding of Ancient China, and Clarke shuddered when Bellamy described Emperor Qin's tomb, an underground landscape complete with immortal rivers of pure mercury.

"That stuff'll kill you," she pointed out.

"Yes, I know," he shot back as he sank into a nearby desk chair. He sounded annoyed. Or tired. She edged forward just a bit, tilting her chin up so she could watch him more closely.

"Something's wrong."

"No. It's not a big deal. Don't worry about it," Bellamy said with a frown.

"Too late," she whispered. She wanted to say, What are friends for? Or maybe, Sharing is usually helpful. Or even just, I need to know because I'm too damn curious about you.

She didn't say any of that. She rested her hand on his knee, and they both kind of stared at it, at the way she had changed the dynamic so much with that simple gesture.

"It's… my mother died today. Two years ago today, I mean. It's just." He cleared his throat before continuing. "It's always kind of rough."

Clarke kissed him.

It wasn't really even on purpose. It was just… she was terrible at these moments, she usually said all the wrong things, and the feeling of being kicked in the ribs was probably more because of her own father's death, and how she hadn't ever before realized she and Bellamy shared this one very specific and very painful kind of anguish, but that didn't make what happened to him okay, and Bellamy was hurting, and she just wanted to kiss him better.

She intended a quick gentle kiss. Well, maybe she didn't intend anything that specific, because that would have required actual thought. But whatever, she had not expected him to meet her halfway, to bring his pain and grief along with him like that. He kissed her as if she was his last chance at happiness, deepening the embrace, his tongue gliding softly across her lip, her teeth, and when she gasped he poured all of himself into her, sweet and hot and too fucking good at this for Clarke to be able to stop now. To stop ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

He had gotten way too far under her skin. It took three days of careful avoidance to recover from the way he had felt pressing against her, hungry and vulnerable and strong all at the same time. The way his mouth had coaxed little gasps and sighs from her with barely any effort, or the way he had cupped her face to pull her closer, almost as if he had been waiting for the chance...

Clarke frowned down at her homework. _Stop it._ Thoughts like that would lead to backsliding. And she had been doing so well up until now, too... (No, she really had not. She kept losing her place in textbooks, her lab partner actually stopped her after class to ask if she was getting sick, and there were the dreams. Mostly, she just needed those dreams to stop immediately. They were... way too realistic.)

Her phone buzzed lightly on the desk. Again. She told herself not to pay any attention. She was studying. She didn't have time for games. This was exactly why she had been so adamant about not dating, after everything with Finn. Because he had been a painful distraction and had probably cost her a few tenths of a point on her GPA, and that was simply unacceptable. Med schools would be looking for consistent success even under pressure, and if screwing around with Finn Collins could rattle her enough to potentially fuck up her future, then clearly she was not ready for a relationship. Of... whatever kind.

This time the buzzing wasn't a text; the stupid phone actually danced across the sleek wooden table top, vibrating to an incoming phone call. Clarke answered, exasperated, ready to give Bellamy shit for interrupting her. But he beat her to the punch.

"Listen, Princess, I didn't come over there looking for some damn pity-kiss from you! So you can stop hiding from me like you think I'm your own personal stalker, okay? I don't need you to fix me, and I don't need you to heal me, and I _definitely_ don't need you for a quick screw."

"What the hell are you talking about?" She knew exactly what he was talking about. Asshole. How _dare_ he rob her of the chance to declare her lack of interest first.

"You can stop avoiding me, Clarke! I told you. You're not even my type."

"Well, good! You're not my type either."

"Good." They were both silent. "You have a type?" Bellamy asked.

"No."

"You must, if I'm not it," he pointed out. Clarke smiled and sank back into Raven's thick comforter, grabbing a throw pillow and picking idly at the seam as she thought about how to answer him.

"Well, cocky know-it-all jocks are definitely _not_ my type."

"Right. That makes sense, since that's your job."

"And I hate black and white movies."

He scoffed at that. "Liar. I saw your face. You loved Marlon Brando." Clarke chewed on her lower lip; he was right... And he had also just admitted to watching her more closely than she'd ever realized.

"You won't tell me a thing about yourself," she continued. "That's definitely not sexy."

"You already know more than most," he answered, his voice soft, and suddenly this wasn't as funny as when it had started.

"I don't know anything about you," she accused.

"You do. And what you don't know, you can ask me."

"But you wouldn't answer," she pointed out.

"See, there. That's something most people don't understand," he murmured gently. "And I don't know... Maybe I would. One day."

Silence.

"Where are you?" Clarke asked.

"Walking to your dorm." She sat up.

"Why?"

"Because you're not my type, and I'm not your type, and I still don't understand mitochondria." Clarke glanced down at her haphazard and unintelligible notes on Constantinople.

"Door's unlocked."

"Give me two minutes."

It was a minute and a half. She barely had time to throw on a clean t-shirt and rub on some Chapstick before he knocked and then walked in as if being here were already habit. Clarke's fingers twined together at the back of his neck and his lips sank against hers before he'd even dropped his backpack.

* * *

There were so many things they should be doing. Studying, obviously, was at the top of that list… but when he had suggested all this, he had made it sound almost like a field trip, this little Saturday excursion to the Smithsonian's Natural History Museum. So she had agreed, telling herself it was a chance to help him prep for his upcoming bio final. She was so damn full of it.

Of course it had all gotten off track. Somewhere between staring dubiously at the Hope Diamond, and standing inside a cloud of blue morphos in the Butterfly Pavilion, the way Bellamy looked at Clarke had changed. His face was softer, his gaze less teasing. When she finally managed to tear herself from the butterflies and they were heading toward the stairs, she asked if everything was okay. Instead of answering immediately, he bent for a kiss. They hadn't talked about whatever was building between them, but there had been enough of these stolen intimacies recently for her to kind of expect it at this point. It didn't change her body's reaction, though. Clarke still felt her breath quicken. She loved when he kissed her like this, slowly and a touch hesitantly, as if he wanted to take his time and enjoy even the small moments between them. She had to be so careful of _these_ moments, especially. They were the ones that sucked her into him, as if he had a special gravity all his own.

"Blue suits you," he said with an enigmatic lift of his eyebrows when he finally pulled himself away. Clarke puzzled over that non sequitur for a moment, then shook her head and laughed.

"What, you're going to buy me the Hope Diamond? Sorry, I'd have to turn it down."

"I thought you didn't believe in the curse."

"Of course I don't! I just don't _like_ it. It's too big and gaudy."

"Noted. It's off the Christmas list," Bellamy teased. Clarke froze, just at the top of the stairs.

"Christmas gifts." It was just a few weeks away. Were they giving each other gifts? That was… they had never really talked about _what_ kind of deal they had going, but gifts were… gifts were for actual, real relationships. Not for making out with your history tutor.

Bellamy turned back to look at her. His face darkened, as if he had read her mind. Maybe he had; he often seemed to know what she was thinking, long before she said a word.

"We don't have to do presents, Clarke."

"Do _not_ get me anything," she ordered him at almost the same time. She hated how harsh it sounded, especially compared to the gentle tone he had taken with her. She sighed and took a step toward the stairs but he was faster. He turned around to face her, one foot on the next step down, bringing himself level with her. His right hand found and gently squeezed her hip; his thumb pushed aside the fabric of her sweater to flirt lightly over the bare skin he exposed there. Clarke felt heat surge through her body at that touch. She tried to back away from him, but the stairs were crowded now with tourists heading for the next exhibit. Instead of finding space, she was pushed forward and he wrapped her tight, shielding her from the crush of bodies, cocooning her in that clean cool smell of him.

Clarke slipped one hand under the hem of his t-shirt and up the warm skin of his stomach. He hissed lightly and rested his head against her shoulder.

"You probably shouldn't do that." She had to admit: she loved how unstable he sounded. Somehow she had caught him off-guard, which was unusual, and despite her own anxieties she couldn't help the evil little wish to keep him off-balance. She turned slightly, her mouth seeking out his again.

It was such a mistake. There could have been two hundred people on those stairs, or none at all. It wouldn't have made a difference. Bellamy's arms tightened around her as he kissed back, eager, happy, yearning, deeper than before. His teeth caught hold of her lower lip – a gentle nip, just a light tug to pull her out of herself, and she fought to retain that upper hand of a moment before but his fingers were in her hair now, her name was a whispered groan of need on his breath, and Clarke whimpered. She wanted to stay here, in this moment and this place and his arms, forever. Right now, just briefly, it didn't matter what they were supposed to call their relationship or who could give gifts, and there was no need to hide parts of herself from him or tuck her heart away from the world. There was just the soft safe scent of Bellamy, overwhelming her and promising her a different path than anyone had offered her before. She wished she were brave enough to follow him.

* * *

"Have you picked out your courses for next semester?" Bellamy asked her a few days later, from his place on Raven's bed. He was stretched out with one arm tucked behind his head. He sounded like he wanted the question to seem nonchalant. He failed miserably. He fairly vibrated with tension as he waited for her to answer. She frowned and closed his bio book, holding her spot with an index finger.

"My history requirement will be completed after this term, Bellamy. I have to get the other core requirements in."

"I know. I was just wondering what you were taking." He retreated from the question then. From her. A silence built up, with the potential to grow awkward, and Clarke did her best to avert that crisis.

"What about you?" she asked

"Hm?"

"What are you taking next semester?"

"I'm basically done next semester. Just my senior thesis."

"Oh." She licked her lips and furrowed her brow, trying not to notice how he sighed at her in disappointment. She had made it worse.

"Clarke…" It was the way he said her name. The way her name almost seemed to hurt him, that gruff rasp like maybe he wanted to keep the sound of it to himself. It was exactly how he always melted the edges of her resolve, and this time was no different. She set the book aside and crawled into the bunk beside him.

"I have a language requirement to fulfill… Are you any good at languages?"

"Latin?"

"Oh. No, that's not one of the options."

"Clarke… What if it's not just about studying, though?" She knew what he was asking. She frowned.

"I told you. I don't have time for anything else. And you don't either, anyway." She focused on her breathing. Focused on the inhale, the steady exhale. She sank into the rhythm of it and on making sure he wouldn't hear how fucking uncertain he made her with those kinds of questions.

"There _is_ one elective I could take," he murmured after a while. She froze. "It's an art class, and I would just be taking it to fulfill credit requirements, for my student loans…"

"And… would you happen to need a tutor?" Clarke asked, a slow happy grin spreading across her face.

"Oh definitely. But I can't afford to pay you, Princess."

"Well, I do also have a literature requirement to fulfill…" Clarke tried not to sound desperate, but really – the odds of him being good at history _and_ literature were just –

"Could you get into Kane's Brit Lit course?" Bellamy's question came out as a hopeful, breathless rush. Clarke shifted onto her side, face bright now with expectation. She didn't even have to ask if he was serious; one look at those warm dark eyes was enough. She rolled closer for the kiss he always seemed so ready to offer, and as his lips crushed against hers Clarke tried to remember exactly why it mattered to her so much, these careful lines she had drawn between them…

…Because right now everything in her life felt blurred. He was good. He was good and smarter than she had ever expected and nice to her and maybe, definitely not now but maybe some day soon, she could find a way not to be terrified of what he made her feel.

* * *

Clarke had waited as long as she could. She knew she shouldn't chew her nails, but Bellamy's final had been scheduled for first thing this morning, and she was a ball of nervous energy at the lack of communication. She was probably just being ridiculous. Of course he'd do fine. He knew this stuff. Right?

 _\- So? –_ She finally texted him, halfway through lunch at the dining hall with Raven and Wick. No answer. Of course. And texting again would be pointless, and look like she didn't trust him. She cursed under her breath.

"Clarke, stop," Raven scolded, placing one hand kindly on her roommate's jittery leg.

It was just… She'd gotten her "A" in history. If Bellamy hadn't done well, Clarke would never be able to live it down. She stared at her phone, trying to force a reply through sheer will. _Fuck._ Raven sighed and patted her knee reassuringly before turning back to Wick.

The phone's sudden buzzing caused all of them to jump, and Raven shot Clarke an annoyed frown.

 _\- So… what? –_ At Bellamy's text, Clarke smiled and relaxed. He would only tease like that if it was good news.

 _\- Where are you? –_ She needed to see him. It hurt how much she needed to see him.

 _\- Right behind you Princess. –_ Clarke whirled around, caught his broad happy grin from across the lunchroom, and managed to stop herself from leaping up to meet him. Instead she offered a small wave, and he winked back at her (oh, that wink was deadly) just as Miller and Lincoln motioned him toward their table.

It shouldn't have filled her with so much joy, the way he looked to her for permission. The way he seemed to want to say no to his friends. _For her_. Her brows drew together in a little frown and she shook her head, shooing him off with a smile before turning back to her meal.

 _\- Go celebrate. I'll see you after break. –_ Clarke set her phone down and blew a long exhale through pursed lips. Winter Break. She could survive that. She'd survived eighteen fucking years without Bellamy before now.

She'd be fine for a couple weeks. She'd be fine. Of course she would.

* * *

Nothing about this should have worked. Bellamy should be just the biggest mistake of her life, and yet things were _better_ with him around. He really did understand Kane's philosophies on pastoral literature, and he made it real for Clarke. And in return, he got this beautifully mystified look whenever she started explaining things like shading or forced perspective... but he wasn't dumb, not by a long shot. As soon as it clicked for him, his dark eyes glittered bright and happy. At her. It was glorious. It was like catching the last moments of a sunrise, or looking up to find the aurora borealis dancing overhead.

Sure, the dynamic had changed this semester, but Clarke had zero interest in taking it any further than they already had. (Okay, fuck, yes _of course_ she had plenty of interest. There wasn't much her imagination hadn't already done to him, at this point. But she wouldn't act on any of it, because she knew she could lose herself in him and end up betrayed like before - or worse, broken.)

But then there was that completely random conversation between Harper and Monroe, the one she overheard while grabbing a cup of coffee at breakfast. The one about how Blake was no fun anymore, how he used to be practically a guaranteed fuck but something had changed, and Clarke rode a warm crest of euphoria all the way through her classes.

It crested and crashed just as she entered her dorm room.

He'd never tried to sleep with her. Why not? Why did he always stop before it got close to that? She felt nausea creep through her. And then shame. And then the damn phone buzzed.

 _\- Study after practice tonight? -_

She was too angry, and she probably should have just waited until she had calmed down. But instead she called him.

"Hey, Princess." He sounded surprised. Happy.

"Why don't you want to sleep with me?" _She_ sounded petulant. Pissed.

"Whoa. What?"

"You heard me." Silence. She heard his sigh, heavy and slow.

"I'm coming over."

* * *

He wasn't happy, but he wasn't angry. Mostly he just seemed… tired.

He grabbed the chair and sat on it backwards, his fingers gripping the wood as he spoke, quietly but with a determination to see it through. Clarke forgot her frustration and sank onto the floor beside him, curious.

He began by telling her he had no real memories of his father, and didn't want any because what kind of man leaves a woman alone, with two babies and no hope? He talked about growing up poor, growing up too fast because he had to take care of his little sister all the time since their mom was always out working two or even three jobs. There was never room for fun or friends or dating – just school, and Octavia. And eventually swimming, once they realized it was his ticket out, his chance at college and a different path, and the whole family worked together to get him here. He owed them more than his life. He owed them his future.

Clarke nodded and swallowed back an ache of sympathetic tears for him. He wasn't done.

"I've fucked up a lot of things, Princess. And I don't want you to be one of those things. I don't want you to regret me, do you understand?"

"I do." He looked down at her, reached out and pushed a stray lock of blonde hair off her face. His touch lingered at her jaw, and his thumb brushed along her cheek.

"Good. Because I don't know much about healthy relationships. I'm sure I'll mess things up, but... it's just because I'm trying to get it right." Clarke nodded and slid into the hollow between his torso and the back of the chair. She rested her head under his chin, wrapped her arms around his waist, and held on tightly to him. Eventually a rumble formed in his chest, and his voice drifted quietly over her, and it was kind but also a little hoarse. Rough. From _holding back_. From always keeping himself in check around her. The realization warmed her blood, and she tried to calm her racing thoughts.

"I just… figured you weren't ready yet," Bellamy began. He stopped there for a moment. Clarke waited. "I still don't think you are. Do you?"

She thought about it. She loved him a little bit right now, for everything he had shared and for trying to be good to her. She probably loved him a little more than a little bit.

Shit.

* * *

 _\- Practice is running really late. Sorry. Can we just meet over here instead? -_

Clarke was already halfway to the library; she looked up, saw no cars coming, and adjusted her path to cross the street. She didn't care where they met, as long as she could get him to talk about _Far From the Madding Crowd_ some more. He made literature so damn sexy.

Most of the guys were heading out when she arrived at the pool; only Lincoln hung back, chatting with his team captain. He cleared out quickly though. As he headed for the outer door Clarke settled in next to Bellamy, watching him go.

"I've told Coach he should be Captain next year," Bellamy announced into the slightly echo-y silence. Clarke smiled to herself; clearly, Bellamy didn't know about the budding romance between his chosen successor and his kid sister.

"Sorry for making you change plans like this," he said as he led her up the stairs to the balcony. "I hope it isn't a problem to meet here." Clarke frowned a bit.

"No, it doesn't matter where we are," she admitted. He was uncomfortably attractive anywhere.

"Okay. Thank you." Clarke just shook her head at his apologetic tone.

"Bellamy, I'm fine. It's fine. I really don't care."

He grinned at that, and Clarke felt less fine. She cleared her throat and asked if he had anything more he could share about Thomas Hardy; he furrowed his brow and assured her it was his night to practice line drawing. The argument was swift but half-hearted, and Bellamy eventually just stopped talking, a pout on his lips.

Clarke tried to kiss it away. She couldn't.

"Okay." She set the books aside. "I don't think this is working. I think maybe we need to take a break from just… _using_ each other to get through these classes."

"Do you _really_ still think that's what –"

"No, but just…" Clarke exhaled a steadying breath. "Hear me out. You once said I was angry. Well, you were right. And I need to tell you why."

"You don't have to do that. You don't owe me an explanation."

"Yes. I really do. Someone should know. My dad died last year. Cancer, but the diagnosis came way too late to do anything about it. And we all coped however we could. I kept so busy pretending everything was normal, I almost managed to fool myself. My mom dealt with it by fucking around with the headmaster of my school. It turned out Dad knew, and I'm… I just know that's what actually killed him." The way she explained it sounded cold, but if she told the story any other way she'd completely lose it. She had to stay calm. Detached. Strong.

"Holy shit, Clarke."

"But you know what? My GPA never dropped. Not ever. Not with the diagnosis, not when my mom betrayed him, not even when he died and left the two of us alone in our house, to pretend we still liked each other."

"Wow… No wonder you're angry," Bellamy began, but she wasn't done. Clarke grabbed his hand, and he squeezed back lightly.

"No, you don't understand. I'm angry at _myself_. Because even knowing all of that, I let myself be vulnerable with someone who, as it turned out, didn't really care. I messed up – so badly – as soon as I was given the first chance… and I let it all affect me. And I'm angry because I don't have much trust left, and I _want_ to be able to say you have it, but… I'm scared."

"Hey, Princess, you don't have to worry about me," Bellamy whispered. His eyes were too dark, too inviting. She wanted to sink into them and let herself drown.

"Help me not be scared, or angry. Help me trust you," she whispered back, stretching toward him. She wanted to feel him. To taste him, and maybe even lay her claim to him.

Heat tore through Clarke when their lips touched; she moaned Bellamy's name, and whatever rules they had half-assedly tried to establish were ripped in half by the ferocity of their individual pain searching out some cure in the other person.

Before she knew it, he had her stretched along the bleachers and his broad strong hands burned like fire across her body, cupping her breasts through her t-shirt, teasing her nipples until Clarke gasped, but even then his mouth was still over hers, still driving her mad with its urgent need.

She twined her fingers into his curls, tugging him closer. That's when his hand wandered down her stomach, not bothering to stop at the waistband of her jeans, slipping inside her panties where, with a confidence she decided not to question, two long, talented fingers entered her just as his thumb rolled gently over her and she exploded beneath him, her hands flailing out instinctively to try and stop herself from falling but it was pointless to try because she was a goner for sure and should have known she always had been. She needed him. She needed to possess him _right now_ , and what he was doing was just a form of torture, no matter how exquisite it felt. She begged for him, her voice low and hoarse with the urgency of it.

They slipped to the floor where Clarke gasped first at the cold tile under her now bare skin, then at the hot, driving sensation of Bellamy filling her, and when he made her come again her rapturous scream echoed through the long bare room. He was right there with her; Clarke smiled proudly when she felt him shudder inside her, and she reached a shaky hand up to grab at those ridiculous curls once more.

"Dammit, Princess. You're a bad influence," Bellamy eventually murmured, lowering himself gingerly to string long warm kisses across her throat, her cheek, her lips.

"No, I'm a good girl," she teased him, "I'm sure _you're_ the bad influence."

"Well, I agree with part of that sentence. You are very, very good," he grinned. Then he turned more serious. "Clarke… are you okay?"

"I'm better than okay," she hummed.

"You know what I mean."

"Mm-hm, and… I think I am," Clarke said. She closed her eyes for a moment. "Just… don't prove me wrong." Bellamy's forehead dropped to her shoulder.

"I couldn't if I tried. I'm all in, Clarke. I have been since the beginning."

"I know," she admitted softly. "Me too."


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_**Well shit. I posted the wrong version of the first two parts. I AM SO ANNOYED.**_

 _ **Minor changes to Part 1, but if you read Part 2 prior to June 19, 2015, I beg you to go back and re-read before continuing. The old version was 2,600 words... it's now closer to 4,400. And SO much better. TRUST ME. (...get it?)**_

* * *

 **Part 3**

Spring felt good. Spring was tank tops and soft skirts and Bellamy's hands on her bare skin every chance he got. Spring felt like warm hope. He'd be an RA next year. He wasn't going anywhere, and she'd be a sophomore, and her mom had agreed to the idea of an apartment off-campus since the school's housing was so damn expensive anyway. Jasper and Monty were doing most of the legwork, Raven had kind-of-sort-of agreed to be a fourth roommate if they needed her, everything was… good.

"Hey, Princess, why so tense?" Bellamy asked, one hand resting absentmindedly at the base of her skull as they sat under a cherry tree along the Potomac, each engrossed in their studies. The morning had come and gone, and now bright midday sun dappled their books, the blanket, their flesh.

"I'm not tense," Clarke shot back, but she knew _he_ knew it was a lie. With an incredulous lift of one eyebrow, and a little bit of a sideways glare, Bellamy stretched one long arm up; he just barely managed to reach the lowest branch overhead, giving it a quick flick with his fingers. A shower of white-pink cherry blossoms rained over Clarke, and despite herself she laughed at him.

"I'm no more tense than usual," she clarified.

"Not true, you're at about a seven right now, and five is your baseline level of tense." As he spoke, Bellamy set his book aside and placed both hands on Clarke's raised bare knees, shifting to place himself directly in front of her. "You know, I have a great idea – "

"No," she frowned. "We're right on the Potomac, Bellamy. Anyone could show up at any minute! The President of the United States could come strolling down that path."

"I like to think he'd approve my plan," Bellamy whispered as he leaned forward, watching her mouth in anticipation – and it was already a little too late to protest because as his lips landed lightly on hers, he pushed her knees just-slightly open. His hips fell into the new space created there, the thick fabric of his cargo pants rubbing against her inner thighs temptingly. Clarke sighed and grabbed his shoulders. He was doing that thing, the thing that drove her crazy, the one where he kept all the best parts of him touching-but-not-quite-touching her. His mouth was a whisper against hers. His hips still hovered inches from contact with her body. His hands floated at her jaw, a butterfly-kiss at her throat, and Clarke moaned with need despite their very public locat –

"Hey guys, sorry to interrupt," Monty called from somewhere too near.

"Fucking…" Clarke sighed heavily. Bellamy laughed and sat back. His dark eyes danced with a promise to continue again later, a promise Clarke knew she'd make him keep. "How did you find us?" Clarke asked her friend, even though she kept her gaze fixed on Bellamy.

"Was it a secret? Because Raven and I installed one of those GPS tracker apps on your phone months ago," Monty explained, finally coming around the edge of the blanket to see Clarke. "We were worried. You're usually impossible to find." He didn't even have the decency to sound guilty for the massive invasion of privacy.

"Monty, that's –"

"Anyway, I just came to tell you your mom's here. Surprise! … Clarke?... Whoa, what the hell?" Monty stared at Bellamy, terrified of the sudden fury that had overtaken Clarke, leaving her pale and mute.

"Thank you for telling us," Bellamy assured the nervous Freshman. "It's just a… yeah, definitely a surprise. Where is she now?"

"Oh, she and Clarke's friend Lexa are over at the student union. They're grabbing lunch."

"Lexa?" It was a squeak. Clarke knew it was a squeak, by the way the other two pulled back slightly. "Why the fuck is Lexa here?"

"Hey, all I agreed to do was come get you," Monty pointed out, not unkindly. "I really don't know anything else."

"I can't go, Bellamy, I can't go," Clarke whispered, panicky. "Fuck." This was what living a nightmare was like. The two people she wanted to see least in the world, sitting at a table together.

"That doesn't sound right," Bellamy pointed out as he grabbed their books and threw them into his messenger bag. "Clarke Griffin doesn't back down from anybody or anything. What's going on? I mean… your mom I get, but why wouldn't you want to see an old friend?"

Clarke bit her lip and frowned, squatting down to fold the blanket. "Because she's not an old friend, she's an old hookup."

"Oh, okay, that makes a lot more sense. And it didn't end well, obviously." She was expecting more from him. She was expecting him to be jealous, or maybe turned on by the idea of Clarke with a girlfriend – Finn had been an outright ass when he found out – but Bellamy didn't seem to care.

"My ex shows up with my mom in tow… and you're just… fine with that?"

"Clarke - you called her a hookup. Not an ex. _Should_ I be upset? Was this something that happened recently?"

"Last summer," Clarke began, but Bellamy just smiled and bent to kiss her. This time there was no teasing, no holding back. His lips melted into hers, his tongue found and caressed her own, and Clarke grabbed his arm for support.

"I'll go with you, if you want. I'm sure whatever they want, we can handle it." Bellamy's breath drifted along her cheek, and all Clarke could do was nod.

* * *

It was worse than Clarke had pictured. Abby and Lexa both jumped up from their little booth to greet her, and Bellamy – trying to be the nice guy, and missing every single one of her cues about needing him to be a dick instead – stepped to the side. Abby gave the most awkward hug known to man. Lexa didn't bother. Lexa went straight for the kiss. It was, somehow, more awkward than Abby's hug. At least Bellamy finally stepped up, grunting and crossing his arms to stare at Lexa until she cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Bellamy, I'd like you to meet my mom, Dr. Abby Griffin. And this is my summer intern supervisor, Lexa. Lexa , mom, this is my – b-Bellamy." _FUCK. Nooo._ Clarke flinched. She should have just called him her boyfriend. He was. He was more than that, really, he was… But now a couple awkward seconds had passed. Saying the word now would feel defensive and disingenuous. Fuck. Clarke looked up to toss him an apologetic grin, but his face was dark, his stormy black eyes boring into hers. He rarely unleashed that look on her.

"I didn't – "

"We'll talk about it later," he cut her off. "For now, are you hungry? I'll go order."

"No, I'm fine. Bell – "

"I think I'll order something," Bellamy continued, and now it was the way he couldn't look at her at all as he walked away. Clarke cursed these women for showing up and ruining her day.

"Why are you two even here?"

"I'm paying for this school, I'm allowed to visit my daughter," Abby sounded offended; Clarke grudgingly conceded her point.

"And you, Lexa? Did you and my mother set up joint accounts without telling me?" Lexa smiled, that serene little smile Clarke had fallen for early on. She hadn't realized at first how much of a façade it was. Now she knew better.

"It was a coincidence, Clarke. I'm in town doing some recruitment work for the firm, and I ran into your mother at the airport. She invited me to come say hi."

"I'm uninviting you," Clarke said, not bothering to go for polite. This whole thing was miserable, and she just wanted Bellamy back. He'd been gone too long. Fuck Lexa and her inappropriate affection.

"Clarke…" Abby sounded offended. Lexa seemed unperturbed. Lexa always seemed unperturbed. It was fucking frustrating, especially once you knew it was just her way of exerting control over a situation.

"Listen, Mom. Feel free to take Lexa back to your hotel with you and do… _whatever_ you want to each other, okay? But I have classes and homework, and I have to find Bellamy. So let's meet for dinner – just us," and Clarke frowned pointedly at Lexa. "I'll text you the address of this Mexican place we like, it's not far from campus." She leaned in, granting her mother one more cold hug, and then slipped away before the tension gave her a headache.

* * *

"Thank you for agreeing to dinner," Clarke sighed as she and Bellamy climbed the stairs to his dorm room later that night. Her heels were in one hand, he other gripping his elbow for balance.

"Yeah, well. That was eye-opening. Thank you for drinking all my wine and getting belligerent with your mom. That wasn't the least bit awkward for me, or anything."

"Shut up. It's because she doesn't know who you are."

"I'd say she does now. The whole restaurant knows. Princess, you were mortifying." Clarke was having trouble judging the height of each step. Bellamy finally just picked her up, carrying her over one shoulder as they reached the last set of stairs. "I don't think we can ever eat there again."

Clarke gasped.

"No! I love their salsa!"

"I'm just saying, you may have burned that bridge when you started yelling. For someone so tiny, your voice really carries, Clarke."

"Did I lie?"

"… There's no way… I don't –"

"You _are_ amazing. Bellamy. You're amazing. You know so much stuff about history. I can't even fit it all in my head, and you, you make it like art, you make it like sex, like really fucking amazing sex – "

"Again, something your mom didn't need to know, Clarke."

"She was _judging_ you. She was judging you and she doesn't know, she doesn't see how strong you are, and kind. And your hands," Clarke finally managed a stage whisper just as Bellamy swung open the door of his room, "Did I tell her about your hands?"

"Thank god no," Bellamy grunted as she tripped slightly over the well-worn edge of his welcome mat. "Here, give me your shoes. And… actually, Clarke, let's just get you undressed and into bed, okay?"

"Maybe I should call her."

"Okay. Give me your phone. Right the fuck now, Clarke. Give me the damn phone."

"She fucked my teacher, Bellamy! While my dad was lying in a hospital dying, she went to my best friend's house, and screwed his dad! There are no boundaries left between us. Trust me." Clarke sank onto the edge of Bellamy's bed and let him lift her sundress over her head. "What did I do wrong? I fell in love. Is that bad? That's not bad. That's supposed to be good." Clarke looked up then, and found Bellamy staring down at her, a worried look on his face.

"Are you oaky? Are you going to be sick?" she asked him, suddenly worried herself.

"Clarke, you just said…"

"What?"

"How drunk are you?"

"I'm not drunk. I'm fucking pissed off at her. And okay, yeah, I'm kinda tipsy. But I won't have a hangover tomorrow or anything. I think."

"You're just… being very honest about things right now. And I'm tempted to take advantage of that."

"Do it." Clarke smiled lazily and laid back on the bed. "Ask me anything. I trust you, Bellamy. I know you'd never hurt me."

"Shit."

"That's not a question."

"I know." She felt the bed shift as he sank onto the edge beside her. Clarke curled her body toward him, resting her head in his lap, and sighed happily when he began to slowly comb through the hair at her temple with his fingers. She closed her eyes and focused on the smell of him, the way his free hand rested on her chest almost possessively.

"…Okay Clarke. I'm sorry, I thought I was okay, I thought I wasn't jealous but today, with Lexa… it hurt watching that. So my question… do you have feelings for her?"

"No. There was a time when I thought maybe I could. But she turned out to be… not kind. She's not a bad person. But her way of looking at the world… it doesn't work for me." Clarke felt him relax under her. It was incredible to know she had made him feel better. She wanted to make him feel even better.

Clarke pulled herself up, until she was staring him in the face.

"I love you, Bellamy. It wasn't supposed to happen. You're not supposed to be my type, you know that? But it turns out my type is just… you. So you see, I didn't even have a choice, did I? I love you, and honestly, if you don't love me it's okay. No. It's not okay, it'll kill me a million tiny deaths if you don't, but I won't stop loving you, because if I could do that I would have a long time ago. So, there's that."

* * *

Clarke groaned a bit and turned over, reaching for Bellamy without opening her eyes. She loved nights they spent at his place. His bed was bigger, for one thing. And his hall was so much quieter, they were never interrupted by frantic knocking from Jasper or Fox, desperate for advice on some new crisis. Bellamy's hall was all upperclassmen, most of whom were camped at the library semi-permanently to finish their theses. Besides, Bellamy's coffee was better than Raven's.

He wasn't there.

"Bellamy?" Clarke sat up, trying to look for a clock and a calendar, wondering if she was late to classes. "Where the hell is my phone?" she muttered in confusion.

"Relax, Clarke, I confiscated it last night." Bellamy assured her as he wandered back into the room from his shower. He had a large towel wrapped around his waist, and Clarke felt her mouth water – what the fuck, when did she become Pavlov's dog? – at the thought of him naked under that towel. "Good morning," he murmured, resting one knee on the edge of the bed and leaning in for a kiss.

"I was a mess last night," Clarke admitted, grabbing for the towel. Bellamy pulled back just in time.

"I'm surprised you remember."

"I had a couple glasses of red wine. I wasn't doing tequila shots or anything." She looked down at her sleepwear – one of Bellamy's swim team t-shirts – and frowned. "Although how did I end up in this?"

"Well, after you professed your undying love for me," Bellamy winked, "I decided we'd all be happier if you took a shower before bed. You fell asleep as soon as we got back into the room." Clarke swallowed hard and picked at the cuticle on her left thumb, refusing to look up. She had, hadn't she? She had told him… everything.

"Hey, Princess? Are you okay?" Bellamy squatted down next to the bed and reached for her chin. He pulled her face to meet his, smiling softly when she finally made eye contact. "You said two really ridiculous things last night. The first was that you wanted to call your mom and tell her about my hands – "

"Still think I might – " she tried to joke.

" – And the second was that I might not love you. Clarke, I already told you, didn't I? I'm all in. What did you think that meant? I'm not fucking around with this. I love you. I love you so much breathing hurts when I'm not with you. I love the way you want to be stronger and better than everyone, I love the way you refuse to back down – even from me, I love your mouth and your… your knees, I love your fucking _knees_ , Clarke. Okay? That's why – "

Clarke grabbed his face and pulled him up, pulled him into a kiss and kept going until she was flat on the bed and he was above her, the towel struggling to do its job and failing quickly. She reached down and tugged.

"No fair, you're dressed and I'm naked?" Bellamy laughed as his mouth traveled lightly along the line of her jaw. Clarke didn't bother to answer. He didn't seem to be letting the clothing get in his way. He stopped for a moment, grabbing her hips and smiling roughly at her just before pulling her to the edge of the low bed. Once she was balanced there, her hips and ass nearly hanging off, Bellamy bent over her underwear and kissed her roughly through the thin material. Clarke whimpered, in part from the gentle friction of his tongue forcing the fabric up against her, in part because she knew he loved the sound. She wasn't disappointed.

He groaned against her in response, growled a low "Fuck, Clarke," that seemed to hum straight into her core, and hooked his thumbs into the elastic at her hips. Pulling down slowly, Clarke squirmed as he exposed more and more of her flesh to his hot breath, until she was panting with need.

"I'm going to buy you some new underwear Clarke," Bellamy promised, and she laughed when she felt a sharp tug against her upper thigh and heard the rip of cotton.

"Dammit Bellamy, you have to stop doing that," she teased him. "They're not supposed to be single-use items."

"I still think my suggestion is better," he pointed out as he moved closer to her, as his fingers sought out and explored the dark center of her and his mouth settled over her once more.

"I can't just go-oh! … pantie-less… oh god…" She could almost _feel_ him grinning into her.

His free hand traveled up her torso, and he shifted slightly so he could continue to suck and tease her with his mouth while fondling her breasts. He rolled one nipple between his fingers just as his tongue rolled over her clit and Clarke felt a dark fire build in her body. She cried out despite herself, blushing at the reaction, but Bellamy moaned and pulled away, infuriating her for a moment until he shifted again and, grabbing her hips for stability, filled her smoothly. Clarke arched back with a happy sigh.

"Fuck, Clarke, I love you so much," he admitted again, as he held himself still inside her and she writhed in bliss at the fullness of Bellamy. Eventually she calmed down and he settled into a rhythm he knew worked for her, slow at first, his thumbs running over the milky skin at her waist, until she was begging for him, begging him to fill her; until she very nearly cried with the need to have him, to keep him as hers. When he exploded inside her, Clarke let herself go too. She let the darkness of earlier overwhelm her, the hot comfort drowning her momentarily. She called for him and clutched his hair, dragging his face to hers for a kiss that carried them both along on the crest of her orgasm.

They fell asleep again, twined into each other, certain of little beyond this place, this time, this other person. Certain, though, too, that it was all enough.


End file.
